


Sugar, I'm sweet on you

by rainbow_nerds



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Protective Bucky Barnes, Roommates, mentions of past character death, valentines day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:09:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29431494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbow_nerds/pseuds/rainbow_nerds
Summary: Steve was delighted when he got a job illustrating cards for Valentine's day. He could work at his own pace, doing what he loved. The trouble was, he struggled getting into theromanceof it all.Bucky was more than happy to help out.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 25
Kudos: 89
Collections: Cupid's Stupids: A Stucky Valentine's Day 2021





	Sugar, I'm sweet on you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theemdash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theemdash/gifts).



> This was written based on the prompt from theemdash, who asked for Steve drawing valentines cards which start to look a lot like Bucky. I sort of put my own spin on it but I think the main elements of the prompt are there, so I hope you like it!
> 
> I had a lot of fun researching vintage Valentine's cards for this one, so if you want to see some of the inspiration behind this fic, check out my [Pinterest board](https://pin.it/6kzENjo)!

Steve knew he was getting sick. His chest felt tight, and he was sniffling more than usual, all the usual signs. But the knowing did nothing to diminish the fact that he had to work, had to keep moving on and fending for himself.

He knew the Barnes’ would still be more than happy to take him in, that Bucky’s offer to sleep on the couch cushions in their family home had been in earnest, most likely suggested by his mother in the first place, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to accept. It felt too much like giving up, like saying he couldn’t take care of himself. He wanted to prove that Sarah had raised a man who could find his own way in the world, who could make something of himself and not become a burden on those who loved him.

He pushed on, overworked and sick until one day he was barely able to make it out of bed to the shared toilet down the hall without collapsing into another coughing fit. Bucky called over to check on him after he had finished up his day’s work and found him choking down air, tangled in his sheets on the floor.

The next thing Steve was aware of was Bucky stroking his back and encouraging him to match the pace of his breathing, and as soon as Steve was able, Bucky handed over a glass of water, helping him tip it up to his lips.

He stayed there in silence until Steve recovered enough to crawl back into bed, and then Bucky took the time to clean up before pulling over a chair and levelling Steve with a look.

“Stevie, I know you wanna do this all by yourself, but I can’t sit by and watch you drive yourself to death. If I hadn’t come by when I did, I—” He cut himself off, looking distraught.

“If you won’t move in with us, I’m moving in here,” Bucky announced. Steve opened his mouth to protest, but all that came out was another wretched cough.

“That’s it. End of discussion. I can’t lose you, Stevie.” Steve was forced to acquiesce. His protests — that he only had one bedroom, that it was farther from the docks and Bucky’s source of income, that there simply wasn’t space for two people in the apartment he’d moved to shortly after his mother’s death — were all met with a shake of the head and an assurance that it would be fine. Steve was usually the more stubborn of the pair, but this seemed to be the one area where Bucky wouldn’t budge.

As irritated as he was, Steve felt a warmth deep in his chest at the thought. Or maybe that was nothing but another clump of phlegm, he thought, as a renewed bout of coughing overtook him.

By the time Steve recovered enough to get out of bed, Bucky had moved himself in. At first, he slept on the couch, but once Steve was well enough to be up and about, Bucky had his dad help bring another bedframe and mattress from their house. It barely fit into Steve’s room, with a rickety old nightstand separating the two beds.

“There, now. Comfy as anything, eh Stevie?” Steve hadn’t been convinced, but he couldn’t think of what else could be done.

That had been a year before, and Steve was beginning to struggle again now that the constant fog of grief had begun to ebb away. Not with illness this time — he’d had a few close calls over the winter but nothing near as bad as that first time — but rather with boredom.

“C’mon, Buck. It’s not fair on you either, havin’ to look after the both of us! I’m doing good, I can work!” Bucky had seemed reluctant at first, but then one day he had come home from work all excited, thrusting a newspaper at Steve.

“I got it!” He pointed to an advertisement on the back page, and Steve read it carefully.

It sounded… perfect for him, actually. He could work at his own pace, getting paid based on how much he managed to get done rather than needing to meet a quota. And it was art, getting paid to create art. Sure, he wouldn’t have control over what he painted, but he was so happy that he hardly thought of that as a downside.

Painting pictures for holiday cards honestly sounded like a dream come true, and he sent off samples of his work without delay.

At first, he was commissioned to draw a set of Christmas cards. He had until mid-December to work on them, so he worked out a schedule and gradually a new routine began to establish itself. Bucky would wake before the crack of dawn and head out to work, and Steve would get up a few hours later to perch in front of the easel they had fashioned from an old pallet that Bucky scavenged for him. He’d sketch and paint until either his hands or his back started to hurt, then he’d lay down until lunchtime and resume afterwards.

It wasn’t the most productive he could be, and he was laid out for about a week and a half when he developed a cold and Bucky threatened to take Steve’s art supplies to work with him in order to make sure that Steve didn’t get out of bed, try to work and wind up exhausting himself. Even with that, Steve was proud of what he managed to create, and between the pair of them, they actually found they had two cents to rub together for the first time Steve could remember. His mom had always struggled to take care of both of them on her nurse’s salary, and once Steve was old enough to work, she’d had to reduce her hours due to her own illness. He’d tried to support them both, but it had never seemed to be enough.

He and Bucky may not have been well off — not by any means — but they had two incomes now, which was a luxury Steve had never known.

When the day came, shortly after the new year, for him to stop by the office of the card company to collect his final paycheck for the Christmas set, he was asked to sit down and wait for a moment.

“Mr. Rogers?” the secretary called after a few minutes, and Steve looked up from the newspaper he had been idly flipping through to see her standing next to a large man in a nice-looking suit. He stood and followed the man into an office. It wasn’t the guy he usually dealt with, but the name on the desk announced him to be Mr. Brown, which Steve recognised as the name of the man who signed each of the checks he had gotten so far.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Brown.” The man looked at Steve from where he was seated behind the large desk before looking back at the papers in his hand.

“Yes, yes. Rogers, was it?” Steve nodded. “You did these?” He pointed to a selection of cards, all of them Steve’s designs. Steve nodded. “You got more of this in you?”

Steve nodded again. “You mean for next Christmas? Absolutely, if you’ll have me back.”

Brown huffed and sat back farther. “Well, for Valentine’s day, first. Then maybe birthdays, weddings, things like that. And sure, next Christmas too, if you’d like.” Steve’s mouth dropped open and he snapped it shut. He didn’t remember much of the rest of the meeting, but he must have agreed because the next thing he knew, he was shaking Mr. Brown’s hand and almost running out of the office.

There was a buzzing under his skin when he got home, and he didn’t know what to do with the newfound energy other than start coming up with ideas. So he did, sketching and taking notes on scrap paper and figuring out how many he could do in the time he had.

When Bucky got home, he found Steve still in his shirt and tie, now covered in pencil smudges and wrinkled all to hell. His hair was sticking up in all directions and he jumped up when he heard Bucky come in.

Bucky stood in the doorway looking at Steve, face halfway between smiling and confused. Steve ran to him and hugged him as soon as the door was closed, and Bucky returned the gesture slowly.

“What’s all this Stevie?” He seemed hesitant, so Steve pulled away, returning to his sketches.

“I got my paycheck today, and got asked to stay on for some Valentines cards and stuff for other occasions, too!”

“Steve, that’s amazing!” Bucky surged in and hugged Steve again, properly this time.

Steve had always liked hugging Bucky, and even though he was sweaty from a day’s hard work, shirt slightly damp and smelling less than flowery, this time was no exception. Steve hugged him back and only pulled away when both of their stomachs rumbled. Steve cringed, and Bucky blushed, running a hand through his hair.

“We should eat, and this calls for a celebration. Whaddya think?”

Steve grinned. “Sure, I’ll head across the street and pick up something while you get cleaned up — you’re pretty ripe, buddy.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow and glanced down at Steve’s shirt. “You ain’t particularly fit to be seen in public either, pal.”

Steve looked down, then, only just noticing his appearance, and burst out laughing. “Maybe you’ve got a point, there. The usual, then?” Bucky nodded and got the bread out of the cabinet, then the leftover brisket his mom had sent over, forever concerned that a pair of bachelors without a woman in sight weren’t eating properly. Never mind that she had taught Bucky to cook a few basics before he moved out, and Steve had been doing the cooking for him and his mom for months, by the end.

They sat across from each other at the little dining table, and Bucky toasted Steve with his glass of milk.

“Looks like you’ve already made a good start, huh?” Steve looked over to where Bucky was gesturing, where he had left his hasty sketches and plans scattered on the floor.

“Just a couple of ideas. I don’t exactly have a lot of experience with Valentines cards, but I’ve come up with a few characters, some concepts that might work.” Bucky was watching him with an odd look in his eye, but then he smiled and took a large bite of his sandwich.

“I’m sure you’ll be great, Stevie.”

Steve felt warm at Bucky’s unshaking confidence in him as he picked up his own sandwich and took a bite. He recounted his meeting in more detail while they ate, and Bucky shared stories from his own day while they cleaned up.

“Say, Stevie. What do you think about going out this weekend? Since you got paid and there’s more on the way, I figure we could probably afford a couple drinks to celebrate, eh?” Steve looked over at Bucky and shrugged.

“You know I don’t like dancing, Buck. I always trip over my own feet and trod on the feet of whatever poor gal you scrounge up for me while you’re off having fun.”

“No dancing, then. How about two guys, getting a drink to celebrate a new job?”

Steve sighed, but nodded.

“Sure thing, pal. If you can keep yourself away from the dance hall, I’ll go out with you.” Bucky’s grin was worth it, Steve thought.

He tried to plan more cards during the rest of the week while Bucky was at work, but he failed to finalise even a single design.

He had seen Valentines cards in the store, and Mr. Brown had even sent him some samples of last year’s designs to look at when he’d asked, so he knew what he was _meant_ to do.

He could do the cutesy characters, the childlike figures and sweet baby animals in silly situations. But it was the captions that caught him up. Steve was no writer, and he certainly couldn’t flirt. So he kept sketching new characters, choosing to ignore the other aspect for the time being.

When Friday came around, he was so frustrated by his lack of progress that he was actually glad to get out with Bucky. He wrapped up warm at Bucky’s insistence, and they walked the few blocks to their usual bar. Bucky ordered for them both and they propped themselves up by the bar, clinking glasses and sharing a smile.

Steve should have known it wouldn’t stay just the two of them. Bucky was magnetic, especially when he was in a good mood. It wasn’t long before a pair of girls waved at them, and Steve was under no illusions as to what would happen next. Bucky would wink, then they’d make their way over and Bucky would flirt with them. He’d try to pawn one off on Steve, and Steve would do his best to keep her happy, but he’d know that she was disappointed to be foisted off on the less attractive friend.

Bucky would then spend the rest of the night dancing with the first girl while Steve sat miserably alongside an equally miserable girl. Wouldn’t be the first time, and he was fairly certain it wouldn’t be the last, either.

He looked up, and sure enough, the girls were making their way over. They were pretty, he supposed. Bucky smiled at them, all charming and sweet. Steve smiled, letting his eyes glaze over as they flirted, but rather than Bucky standing and walking off, Steve blinked back to the present to see the two girls giggle and shrug before walking back to their own table together. Steve looked at Bucky quizzically.

“Told ‘em we were here to celebrate you, not to dance. Then said my gal wouldn’t be too happy if I went dancing with someone else.” Steve was thrown for a loop.

“You’ve got a gal?” he asked, and Bucky turned an odd shade of red.

“Oh, uh. No, I don't. I figured that was the best way to let ‘em down easy.”

Steve was relieved. He wasn’t sure why the idea of Bucky having a girl somewhere had made him so uneasy; it was bound to happen eventually. Bucky was a catch, and Steve knew he’d make a great husband someday. A great father. He cleared his throat.

“Right, yeah. Sorry if you wanted to dance, I don’t wanna hold you back, Buck.”

“Quit that! I love dancin’, sure, but nothing beats a night with my best pal.” Bucky said it so easily that Steve had to take a moment to process it. He smiled gratefully and gestured for the bartender to refill their glasses.

“So, how’s the designs coming along, anyhow?” Steve grimaced in answer, and Bucky clicked his tongue. “That bad, huh?”

“The art itself is fine, it’s just that I’m struggling with the _romance_ of it all, y’know?” He sipped his drink.

“Anything I can help with?” Bucky asked. Steve paused and looked him over. Strange, Bucky didn’t usually flush from only two drinks. Must’ve eaten less than usual today.

“Well, actually,” he started, and Bucky’s face was all open and eager, so he figured he might as well ask. “I need some taglines, little jokes and one-liners to go on the cards. You’re pretty good with words, right?”

“You want me to come up with some propositions, Stevie?” Bucky winked as he asked, and Steve squirmed in his seat.

“I mean, if you don’t mind? I can—”

“You got it, pal. I’ll take a look at your scenes and come up with some lines, and if I think of anything else, I’ll let you know, maybe it’ll inspire you some more?” Bucky smiled and drained his glass, beckoning for another, and from the expression on his face, Steve wasn’t sure if asking for help had been the best idea he’d had in a while, or the worst.

They stumbled home later — Steve hadn’t gone past three drinks, but Bucky’d had a couple more, meaning they were both about equal in terms of inebriation. Bucky barely paused to remove his shirt and suspenders before flopping into his own bed, while Steve took a little more care, at least pausing to get under the covers before falling into a dead sleep.

His head was a little fuzzy the next morning, but he’d managed to avoid much by way of a hangover, thank goodness. He decided to take it easy, switching the radio on low and listening to it while he made some coffee and toast for breakfast. Bucky sauntered out not long after and shot him a grin.

“Head doing okay, then?” he asked, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“I should be asking you that question, pal. You drank more’n I did.”

They spent the rest of the morning together in relative silence, until Bucky seemed to remember something.

“Oh! Do you want me to take a look at your designs now?” Steve shrugged and gestured at the pile of paper on the table. Bucky practically jumped up to look at them, and he grinned at some of the rough sketches.

“Stevie, these are amazing! I love this one.” He held up a sketch of an elephant holding out a rose in its trunk. “What about something like ‘ _Ears hoping you’ll be my Valentine’?”_ Steve laughed and nodded. He’d known Bucky would be good at this.

He joined Bucky next to the table and jotted that down on the corner of the page.

“I like it. I’ll work on the typography later, but I wanna make sure I don’t forget it.”

Steve thought he knew what he was getting into with his request, but Bucky — as he always tended to do — far exceeded his expectations.

At first, Steve left his illustrations out as he finished them, and Bucky scribbled his suggestions onto the edge of the paper. Steve would wake up in the mornings to find _Dog-gone it, you’re a cutie! Won’t you be my Valentine?_ on a sketch of a sausage dog with hearts in his eyes, _Be my tweet-heart!_ next to a sketch of two bluebirds snuggling up in their nest, and _Honey, I’m sweet on you!_ added to the bumblebee design.

Gradually, the rest of Steve’s doodles got captions, and he was able to start setting them down properly, adding colour and finishing touches to the designs as he incorporated the slogans.

And then, Bucky started suggesting other ideas, separate from what Steve had already drawn. He struck a match to light some candles one evening, and called out to Steve.

“Hey, Stevie! Don’t you think we’re a _perfect match_?” Steve laughed and added it to his growing list of ideas.

When they went out to pick up some groceries, Bucky stopped suddenly, and Steve turned around to ask what was wrong.

“I’d like to bring things to a _head: Lettuce_ be Valentines?” he asked, holding out a head of lettuce. Steve snorted and carried on his way, filing the line away in his head and trying not to think about the fact that, to an outside observer, it might look like Bucky had propositioned him out in the open.

Not that that would ever happen, but still. The one-liners kept coming.

“ _Orange_ you going to be my sweetheart?”

“Don’t you know I’m _nuts_ about you?”

“Hey _sugar,_ why not be my Valentine?”

“Is there _mushroom_ in your heart for me?”

“Nothing _fishy_ about my love for you! Let me _reel you in!”_

“I’m _plum_ crazy about you!”

On the way home, a fire truck drove down the street, and Bucky leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“My heart’s on fire for you, darlin’.”

Steve laughed again, but he felt funny. Something about Bucky’s tone — maybe it was the low whisper or the fact that Steve had been hearing Bucky’s flirting all day — made him shiver. They got inside and Steve started jotting down Bucky’s ideas.

“I gotta say, you’re good at this. No wonder you could have any gal you wanted.” Bucky sighed and started putting their groceries away.

“Just tryna _butter you up_ , doll.” He waved the butter pack at Steve before putting it away. Steve added it to the list.

“Oh! Doll, that’s another one, I could draw a ragdoll and caption it ‘ _You’re a doll’_ or something like that?”

“Now you’re getting the hang of it!” Bucky was grinning at him, and Steve felt a surge of pride. Maybe he could flirt, after all — if he ever felt the urge.

If he had thought that Bucky was done, he was in for a surprise. Bucky threw line after line at him, and Steve almost started to believe he was being genuine — often they had nothing to do with where they were or what they were doing. Bucky would turn to him and smile, then come out with something which was somehow both cheesy and sweet at the same time.

“You’re cute as a _button_ , you know?”

“You’re a _peach_.”

“You got me all-a-flutter with that smile.”

Finally, Steve couldn’t bear it anymore. Every time Bucky shot another line at him, he felt something inside of him clench. It was beginning to dawn on him that the way he had always thought about Bucky was maybe a little different to the way most other guys thought about their best pals.

He had always liked to look at Bucky. In a way, he was the perfect subject, with his strong jawline, plump lips and dimpled chin. The curl of his hair and the slant to his grin had always made Steve’s fingers itch for a pencil, but he had always figured that was the extent of it.

But recently, he had come to accept that it wasn’t merely an artist’s appreciation.

It was just, well, appreciation in general.

He didn’t _always_ want to reach for a pad and pencil when he woke up early on a weekend and saw Bucky sprawled across his bed on the other side of the room, one leg escaping the sheets, tan and strong and dusted with dark hair. More often than not, Steve didn’t even think about drawing him, content to let his gaze rest there and take in the sight, all the while resisting the urge to reach out and touch.

He knew Bucky couldn’t possibly feel the same way, though, so he tried to keep it hidden for the most part. But it got more and more difficult each time Bucky looked at him and called him sweetheart or asked him to be his Valentine in _that_ tone of voice. It was becoming more and more difficult to remember that it wasn’t real.

That was why, only a week after he had agreed to let Bucky help him come up with slogans, he looked up from his work when Bucky got home and levelled him with a serious look.

“Buck. I have enough designs now to get us through, more than enough slogans than I have time to work on. You don’t need to give me any more. Thanks, pal.”

Bucky frowned, frozen in the doorway.

“Oh, I — right. Sure thing. Glad I could help you out. Good luck with the rest of your cards, I guess.” Bucky smiled stiffly and went to change out of his work clothes. He ate quietly that evening and kept himself to himself for the rest of the weekend. Steve felt bad about it, but he didn’t know what he could say to make it up to him.

He hadn’t done anything so bad, had he?

He buried himself in his work instead, creating design after design, but he soon realised it was no good. All his characters started looking familiar.

A certain curl to their hair, a certain slant to their smile, a certain dimple in their chin. He put the designs aside and got some fresh paper.

If he was going to draw things he couldn’t submit anyway, he might as well draw what he really wanted to.

It started off cartoonish — a pair of boys, one holding out a flower to the other while wearing a hopeful smile. And then he kept going, unable to stop the flow of his pencil across the page as he churned out image after image. Finally, he gathered up the sheets and stuffed them into a box of scrap paper, out of sight.

He felt better for having gotten it out. He couldn’t tell Bucky how he felt, but he could let his feelings out on paper, and that would have to be enough.

He took out his paints, and picked up a usable line drawing and set to work on it with renewed optimism.

By the end of January, he had converted most of his sketches into a solid collection of card designs which he was sure Mr. Brown — or whichever assistant Steve would be working with this time — would approve of. He gathered them up in a portfolio and got ready to head out. He jotted down a note for Bucky on some scrap paper and left it on the table.

_Gone to hand in my card designs and pick up some groceries. Should be home by six. —Steve_

He left the apartment and made his way to hand in the designs. It had been tough, but he was really proud of what he’d come up with in the end.

🥰😘💌🌹

Bucky knew he had gotten carried away with the cheesy lines. He had been enjoying himself, letting himself call Steve _doll_ and _sweetheart_ all he wanted — as long as he fit some sort of play on words in there somewhere — his genuine feelings masked under a thin veneer of helping Steve out.

So yeah, he’d gotten a little too enthusiastic, pulling on a decade’s worth of admiring Steve both from a distance and far too close for comfort.

Bucky had even begun to suspect that Steve was responding to his flirting positively. In the beginning, he had laughed in amusement before writing down the line. The more earnest Bucky was, though, the more Steve’s laugh softened, the slower he was to write it down, the pinker his cheek turned.

That’s why he was taken aback when Steve told him to cut it out. He ran those moments back in his head, thought about Steve’s reactions. Maybe the softer laughter was actually because he didn’t find them as funny anymore. Maybe he’d hesitated to write them down because he didn’t want to encourage it, maybe the pink in his cheeks was from discomfort or embarrassment rather than an indication that he liked what Bucky was insinuating. Bucky had clearly misinterpreted everything, and he felt awful.

He was tired over the following days, staying awake almost the whole night listening to Steve’s deep, thankfully even, breaths across the room. He thought about the times when Steve’s breathing had been far from even. The time he’d come over to check on him and had thought he was gone for good. Those few moments before Steve had taken a shaky breath in his arms had solidified that day as the worst one of his life.

Bucky had decided a long time ago he wanted to spend all the time he possibly could with Steve. It’s what had made him stick up for Steve even if he was the one picking fights with guys twice either of their heights in the schoolyard, and it’s what made him take a step back now, when Steve made it clear that he didn’t want the same thing Bucky wanted.

He’d go back to calling him “Pal _”_ or “Stevie _”_ if that’s what Steve wanted. He’d go back to encouraging Steve’s art career without getting actively involved. He’d do whatever it took to stay Steve’s best friend.

By the time February rolled around and Valentine’s cards started appearing in stores — pink confetti in window displays and cherubic figures in newspaper ads — Bucky was beginning to adjust to going back to the way things were, but there was a touch of bitterness which came from getting that taste of what it might have been like.

It had been a long day. Bucky had somehow managed to get reprimanded for bringing a crate to the wrong warehouse and almost fell on his ass after tripping over a loose piece of rope someone had left lying around. By the time he signed off for the day, he wanted nothing more than to get home and lay on the couch, listening to Steve’s off-key humming to whatever song played on the radio.

He opened the door and was disappointed to see that he was the only one there. There was a note in Steve’s familiar scratchy handwriting. It had always tickled Bucky that Steve’s hand was so steady and precise when he was drawing, capturing fine shadows and detail effortlessly, but when it came to writing, it all poured out in an untidy scrawl. Their teachers had scolded him for it, but Bucky always asserted that Steve’s mind was simply too quick for his hand when he wrote.

He checked the time — five-forty. Steve would probably be back soon. Bucky pulled off his grimy work shirt and turned on the radio, then sat down to look at Steve’s note some more. He turned the paper over, noticing it had been written on the back of a sketch of some sort. He froze.

It was a cartoon, in a similar style to Steve’s Valentines cards, but this one was different.

It didn’t feature a cute animal, or a cherub-faced infant. It was a man with dark hair, one curl hanging down over his face. His chin had a dimple exactly like Bucky’s, and he was winking up from the page.

“What the—” Bucky stood up and went to the box where he knew Steve kept scrap paper. He took out the top sheet, and sure enough, there was another drawing of a man who looked remarkably like Bucky. This time he was holding the hand of a smaller figure with fair hair. He squinted. This one was sketchier, he couldn’t make out the clothes on the smaller figure, or whether the hair was short or if it was just pinned up. He couldn’t help but recognise the similarities between this figure and the way Steve tended to draw himself. The angular nose, the bony elbows and narrow jaw. It wasn’t what Bucky saw when he looked at Steve, but maybe...

He pulled out another. And another. This one was clearer, and Bucky had to sit down on the floor with the box because there were definitely two fellas in this one. He didn’t dare hope, but his traitorous mind couldn’t help but note the similarities between the taller character’s appearance and his own, between the shorter one and Steve. He looked at another, and another.

The style didn’t stay cartoonish, veering into realism and back to a rendition of them as children — because it was undeniably them, at this stage — one boy patching the other’s grazed knee with the caption declaring “I’ve fallen for you!”

Steve had gotten pretty good at writing captions by himself, Bucky thought. Maybe he really hadn’t needed Bucky’s help any more. The thought vanished as soon as he turned over the next image and felt his breath leave his chest all at once.

This one was back to realism, and in it they were locked in an embrace. The lines were rough and loose, the way they always got when Steve was in the zone, drawing from the heart. There were more sheets in the box, but Bucky wasn’t sure if he could look at them. He didn’t know what to think, how to respond.

He had thought his flirting had made Steve uncomfortable, but these drawings told another story. If Steve had sat down and drawn all of these, then maybe there was the tiniest chance that he might actually think about Bucky the same way Bucky thought about him. The hope felt too big, too precarious to grasp onto, but there it was in black and white on the page in front of him.

The door handle clicked and the door itself creaked open. Bucky froze, clutching the drawing in his hands. He felt guilty, even though the scrap paper box was actually the only one Bucky had been explicitly told he could take paper from if he needed it.

“Buck? I’m home!” Steve called out, and Bucky saw the moment he spotted him sitting on the floor, surrounded by the discarded drawings and looking up at him with an expression on his face which almost dared to be hopeful.

“Hi, Steve,” he managed to choke out. Steve put the small bag of groceries down right inside the door, not even bringing them to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry for snooping, Stevie, but I—”

“Buck—” Bucky stopped to let Steve speak, but he didn’t finish his sentence — for once, he seemed to be at a loss for words. Bucky stood up, still holding the last drawing, and saw Steve’s cheeks turn pink again.

“I gotta ask, Stevie,” Bucky started, but he was unsure what to say. Steve clenched his jaw as if waiting for something nasty, the same way he did before a fight. Bucky’s heart clenched, but he took another step closer. “These drawings. Are they… are they what I think they are?”

Steve’s gaze darted away, jaw still held tight as he shrugged.

“What do you think they are?” Steve asked, and Bucky felt a wave of fondness at the standoffish tone. It gave him the courage to take that final step so he was standing in front of Steve, to cup his face in one hand and feel it soften under his touch. Steve let out a shuddering breath and nodded.

“Stevie, I gotta tell you something. I thought I was bein’ clear, but just in case I wasn’t—” Bucky wasn’t sure how he was managing to keep his voice steady, with Steve so close and looking up at him with a very un-Steve expression of uncertainty in his eyes. “Stevie, all those lines I gave ya for the cards? I meant ‘em all. Every last one of ’em.” He braced himself for Steve’s reaction even though somewhere deep down he already knew it would be okay. Steve’s eyes widened, then his expression turned coy.

“Even the one about wishing to hear the _‘tuna’_ wedding bells?” he asked, and rather than laughing, Bucky smiled bashfully. He didn’t see the point in trying to laugh it off, not when he was already being honest.

“Even that one, crazy as it is. I’m head over heels for you, Stevie.” Bucky still had one hand on Steve’s cheek, so when Steve smiled, eyes crinkling closed, it was easy as anything to lean in and brush their lips together.

Steve gasped and Bucky felt him lean into the kiss. A hand came up to hold Bucky’s wrist, keeping it in place where it still rested on Steve’s face, and he felt a tentative brush of Steve’s other hand on his waist. He smiled into the kiss and took Steve’s arm, encouraging him to hold him.

Steve hummed, and Bucky felt a jolt run through him as they broke the kiss. His heart was racing, and he didn’t think the smile he wore would ever fade.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m pretty far gone on you too, Buck.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky sighed, and Steve surged back up to kiss him again. He was no longer uncertain, the hand which had barely brushed his side before now clinging desperately to his undershirt, pulling them close while the other wound its way to the back of Bucky’s neck.

Bucky felt like a live wire, caught somewhere between joyous laughter and relieved sobs as he wound his arms around Steve, attempting to communicate every ounce of love he felt through his kiss. His hands were trembling as he held Steve close, and every inch of him vibrated with adrenaline.

He felt Steve laugh against his lips and pulled away slightly, but Steve chased after him with his mouth before looking up at him

“Y’know, it’s funny,” Steve said, eyes bright and lips red. “You’re supposed to be the _experienced_ one here, and yet here you are actin’ like you’ve never kissed anyone before. I saw you and Sally MacNally behind the gym that time, so I _know_ this ain’t your first time doin’ this.”

Bucky huffed out a breath of laughter and dropped his head to rest on top of Steve’s.

“I know, I just never— I never expected I’d get to kiss _you_. It’s different because it’s you.” He pulled back so Steve could see his face, and saw every inch of his own love reflected in Steve’s eyes.

“God, has anyone ever told you you’re a fuckin’ sap?” Steve grinned cheekily, and Bucky leaned in to kiss him again.

Because he could. He could kiss Steve the way he’d wanted to ever since he’d realised kissing was something worth doing, and Steve would welcome it. Would return it.

The realisation gave him the nerve to reach up and grasp at Steve’s jacket, pulling it off and tossing it aside so he could feel the warmth of Steve’s skin under the thin fabric of his shirt. Steve seemed to take this as an invitation, though Bucky was already down to his undershirt and work pants so Steve had an easier job of it, untucking the undershirt and sliding his hands underneath. Bucky gasped at the contact and started fumbling with Steve’s shirt buttons, hands still shaking traitorously.

“Lemme, Buck.” Steve pulled his hands back and took Bucky’s in his, bringing them back up to his face. Then he started to unbutton his own shirt as Bucky leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on the corner of Steve’s mouth, then the soft skin under his left eye, the tip of his nose, anywhere he could reach. Finally, Steve’s shirt fell to the floor and he stepped back with a shiver as Bucky raked his eyes over him. He reached out for the undershirt, pulling it up and over Steve’s head in one motion.

He’d seen Steve without a shirt on before. He’d even seen Steve naked before — they shared a bedroom, after all, and it wasn’t like they had the luxury of a separate bathroom to wash in in their shitty little apartment. But he’d never been able to allow himself to really _look._ Not the way he’d always longed to. Steve’s arms folded across his chest nervously, but it was Bucky’s turn to reach out, take Steve’s hands, and return them to his own sides.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Stevie,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. Steve exhaled and stepped back in closer, pulling Bucky’s undershirt up and removing it fully this time.

When they kissed again, the bare skin of their chests met and it was like another awakening. The hunger which had been slowly building inside of Bucky as long as he could remember finally reared its head and took him over. Steve kissed the side of his neck, then made his way over his chest, nipping and licking at the skin as he went. Bucky didn’t want him to ever stop, but he also knew he didn’t want to get any more carried away out here. Standing in the middle of the living room wasn’t enough, and he was sure the rickety old armchair wasn’t up to the challenge either, so he took a step back, pulling Steve with him.

“What?” Steve asked irritably, immediately resuming his attention to Bucky’s neck and chest.

“I want to, hngh, Stevie. Oh my _god.”_ Words failed when Steve pulled him close and latched onto his throat again. He tilted Steve’s head up and jerked his head towards the bedroom door. Steve grinned wickedly and nodded, then started walking Bucky backwards towards the door.

As soon as he was there, Bucky dropped down to sit on the edge of his own bed, purely because it was closer to the door. Steve wasn’t far behind, closing the door behind him and then immediately climbing into Bucky’s lap.

Kissing like this was even better, because Steve wasn’t restricted by their height difference. In fact, he was able to tilt Bucky’s head back and kiss him from a higher vantage point, and _sweet Jesus,_ that felt good.

Bucky moaned into the kiss, and it seemed Steve liked that because he ground down against Bucky, sending a jolt of electric energy up his spine.

“Bucky, I want—” Steve gasped.

“Anything, doll. Whatever you want.” Bucky looked up at Steve, breathless and flushed, and saw that Steve was equally flushed, though thankfully his breathing seemed fine so far. “Anything.” He repeated it as he brushed a hand through Steve’s hair.

Steve sat down fully on Bucky’s lap and Bucky couldn’t help but grunt at the new friction. Steve’s face turned even redder, though he didn’t seem put off.

“I don’t really,” Steve began, but stopped himself and started over. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I don’t really know what I want,” he admitted. Bucky brought him in for a soft, reassuring kiss.

“That’s okay, Stevie. I’ve never done this before, either.” Steve interrupted him with a disbelieving eyebrow. “It’s true! I’ve kissed plenty of gals, but I’m a gentleman, I’d never… or at least not more than... and besides, I haven’t ever done anything with a fella before.”

Steve snorted at his stammering, but he seemed reassured.

“Alright, then. Guess we’ll figure it out together.” Steve rested a firm hand on Bucky’s chest and pushed him gently back onto the bed before crawling on top of him. Bucky gasped, canting his hips up, and Steve whined in response and ground down on him, and _oh._ That was nice. That was very nice. He did it again and again, until they found a rhythm where they rutted against each other, gasping into each other’s mouths with each movement.

“God, Stevie,” Bucky whined, running a hand down Steve’s side and letting it rest against the waistband. “Can I… can I take these off?” he asked, and Steve nodded eagerly. He fumbled with the button but finally got the pants open, pushing them down, revealing inch after inch of tantalising, pale skin.

Any blood which remained in Bucky’s head left in a rush, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He didn’t even feel disappointment at the loss of friction when Steve climbed off of him to remove his pants properly. He returned to the side of the bed and ran a finger down Bucky’s chest, over the sparse trail of hair leading to his own waistband. Bucky nodded before Steve could even pose the question, and he sighed in relief as Steve pulled his pants down over his legs and threw them somewhere else in the room.

And then Steve was back on top of him, straddling his hips with nothing in between them. Bucky heard a sharp hiss of pleasure, though he was unsure whether it came from his own mouth or from Steve’s. He propped himself up on one arm so they could kiss, each movement of their bodies awakening something new in Bucky he hadn’t previously known existed.

Bucky surged up right as Steve ducked down and their heads bumped together, sending Bucky into a fit of giggles which Steve kissed right out of his mouth, cupping his face to bring them together safely. Neither of them really knew what they were doing, but Bucky was happy to follow Steve’s lead, anywhere he wanted to take him.

Words were lost, and the only sounds pouring from their mouths a series of senseless swears, gasps and a constant repetition of each other’s names. Bucky hardly even noticed he was close to the edge until he was right there, so lost was he in the way Steve moved on top of him.

“Fuck, Stevie,” he whined as his orgasm washed over him in waves of pleasure as Steve kept moving, and Bucky watched rapturously when he threw his head back with a harsh sounding gasp and followed after.

Steve slumped forward onto Bucky, and Bucky caught him easily. He could feel Steve’s breaths coming heavily, harshly. Shit.

“Breath with me, Stevie. I got you, doll. Just breathe.” He held Steve’s hand on his chest, right over his heart, and slowly Steve’s breathing returned to normal.

“I’m fine, Buck. Not an asthma attack, just a little short. I’m okay.” He turned his head and kissed Bucky’s shoulder tenderly. “That was…” He trailed off, but Bucky knew what he meant.

“I know. I know.” He pressed a kiss into Steve’s hair and relaxed back into the bed, Steve still laying on top of him.

“We’re pretty gross, Buck,” Steve grumbled, and Bucky laughed. He was surprised that Steve had managed to remain pliant and cuddly for even those few moments post orgasm.

“Yeah, you’re right. Let's get cleaned up.” He struggled to sit up, limbs heavy and slow, pulling him closer to sleep with each movement. They wiped themselves down with a wet cloth, not wanting to risk the shared washroom down the hallway with evidence of their activities literally all over their bodies. They dressed in underwear and Steve insisted on going out to actually put away the groceries which were still lying where he had left them on the living room floor.

“Fine, but don’t take long, okay?” Bucky pouted, and was relieved when Steve laughed.

“Yeah, yeah. You go to bed, sleepyhead.”

Bucky looked at the bedroom, barely any space to move with the rickety nightstand sandwiched between the two beds. An idea formed, and by the time Steve came back into the room, he had lifted the nightstand out of the way and pushed the beds together. They were slightly different heights and didn’t actually fit properly, but Steve’s smile when he saw it was worth the effort.

He held something behind his back, but shushed Bucky at his curious expression, tucking it under his pillow before climbing in. They curled up together in bed, and it felt natural. Like this was how they were always supposed to be.

Steve didn’t wait long before retrieving whatever it was he had been holding, and then handing it to Bucky.

“So, would you?” he asked, and Bucky looked down to see that it was a card. One of the ones which had been discarded, depicting two boys who looked a lot like Steve and Bucky. It was the one where they were wrapped up in each other, the one which Steve had walked in on him holding. Steve had added a caption which hadn’t been there before. It was simple, not a pun in sight.

_Be mine?_

Bucky choked up as he looked at it, then he pulled Steve in for a kiss.

“Any time, sweetheart.” He leaned away, reaching for the light and switching it off. “I’d be _de-lighted.”_

He pulled the covers up over them and kissed the grumbling protests about ruining the moment right out of Steve’s mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun with this, so thank you Em for the prompt! I may or may not already have an idea in mind for a sequel to this, so we'll see where that takes us!


End file.
